


No Fortress So Strong

by CrownofSilverStars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Court of Magic, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord's Consort, M/M, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions, harry is james' brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownofSilverStars/pseuds/CrownofSilverStars
Summary: While running from the basilisk in the Chamber, Harry James Potter accidentally breaks a sleeping enchantment cast by Lord Voldemort - waking up Harry Euphemios Potter.





	No Fortress So Strong

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.  
> The title comes from a quote by Antisthenes: "When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life."  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from a quote by JRR Tolkien in The Silmarillion: "They shall sleep now in the darkness under stone, and shall not come forth until the Firstborn have awakened on earth."

_This was not the brightest idea_ , Harry thought to himself as the basilisk chased him around the Chamber at the orders of the memory-Tom Riddle.  He had found out rather quickly that, as a parselmouth, he was immune to the basilisk’s stare (otherwise he’d be dead several times over by now), but that was the only good part of the last ten minutes in the Chamber.

He ran through a shadowy corner and dodged around a pillar, only to find himself cornered by the giant snake.

“Not so brave now, are you?” Tom Riddle taunted. 

Harry turned slowly from his corner to face the snake before him.

“I’ve no idea how you ever managed to defeat me in the future,” Tom scoffed.  “You’re pathetic.  And now, you will meet your end.  _Now, beautiful!  Strike!_ ”

Just as the basilisk reared up, another voice rang out through the Chamber, hissing, _“Etheldred!  Hold!”_

The basilisk jerked back.  Both Tom and Harry looked to the corner the voice had come from – the corner that Harry had just run through.  On a previously unseen platform, just starting to sit up, was a man.

 _“Return to your nest, Etheldred,”_ the man ordered.  _“I’ll take it from here.”_

The basilisk slithered back up to the mouth of the statue, which closed itself behind him.

The man gave Tom a harsh look.

“Explain,” he said shortly, before glancing around the room.  His eyes rested on Harry for a long moment, before darting to Ginny where she lay at the foot of the statue.

“Tom,” he said, his voice dropping from cool to frozen.  “Are you draining the life force out of that girl?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes?”

“End this.  Now!” the man ordered.  “Return to your diary.  Release her life.  Obey my words, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

The man gestured with his wand, and Tom dissolved into a dark mist, which proceeded to dive into the diary that rested beside Ginny’s head.

“You can control Voldemort?” Harry blurted out, looking at the other man, though not letting his guard down as he slowly moved towards where Tom had dropped his wand.

“Only this form of him,” the man said.  “The diary was a schoolboy experiment that we knew might go wrong, so we set up a fail-safe that meant I could stop him.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, or stop you from getting your wand.  I understand that you’re probably a bit confused right now, but I am as well.  Would you mind telling me today’s date?”

“Um…June 22nd,” Harry said after a thought. 

“What year?” the man asked quietly.

“1993?”

The man’s face tightened and his eyes fell shut.

“Damn him.  Damn him to seven hells.  Twelve years.”

“You’ve been down here for twelve years?” Harry asked interestingly.  “Did Voldemort lock you up here?”

“He did,” the man nodded.  “I kept interfering with his plans, so he hit me with a spell and locked me up here so I couldn’t interfere.  I’ve been asleep down here since 1981.”  He buried his face in his hands.

“Yeah, well, he’s good at messing up people’s lives,” Harry muttered.

The man looked up at him, staring intently at his face.

“You’re Harry, aren’t you?” the strangely familiar man asked.  “Harry James.”

“Yes,” Harry said shortly.  “Who are you?”

“Harry Euphemios,” the man replied.  “I’m sure your parents have mentioned me.”

“My parents are dead,” Harry said stiffly.

The man’s eyes widened and his face crumpled.  He staggered and grabbed the wall to hold himself up.

“James is…gone?  Lily too?  When?  How?”

“Almost twelve years ago,” Harry said confusedly.  He thought everyone knew this story.  “On Halloween.  Voldemort attacked us and killed my parents.  He tried to kill me too, but I survived with just my scar.”  He pushed his bangs away so that the lightning-bolt scar was on his way.  “It’s how Voldemort was defeated,” he added.

“Of course,” the man – Harry Euphemios – said humorlessly.  “He would have gone on Halloween.  The last date I remember was October 29th, 1981.  That’s when I was cursed into that damned sleep that you accidentally awakened me from.”

“Voldemort cursed you?” Harry asked. 

“I assume,” older Harry said.  “He knew I would interfere if he tried to kill you.  I had before.  So, he cursed me before I found out that he’d learned your location.  I would never…he never would have taken James and Lily if I’d had anything to say.”

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

The man still looked surprised.

“Sirius or Remus haven’t mentioned me either?”

“Who?”

The man’s face grew cold.

“You’re…you’re not living with Sirius?  Who raised you?”

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied.

“Lily’s _sister_?” older Harry demanded.  “Her Muggle sister?  Petunia hated magic!  And I doubt that has changed in twelve years.”

“It hasn’t,” Harry said glumly, looking down.

He looked up when the man laid a hand on his shoulder.

“They haven’t treated you well, have they?” he asked.

Harry shook his head.

The man appeared to be holding back anger.

“I don’t know what’s happened while I’ve been asleep, Harry, but I assure you, you will never return to those… _Muggles_.  Not if I have anything to say about it, which I do.”

“How are you so surer?” Harry asked.

The man let out a harsh bark of laughter.

“I never did manage to fully introduce myself, did I?  My name is Harry – Henry, technically – Euphemios Potter.  James was my much-younger brother.”

Harry stared in amazement at the man – his uncle.

“I have an uncle?  Why has no one told me about you?”

“Well, I presume because I’ve been missing and presumed dead for more than a decade.  Everyone probably thought that the Dark Lord killed me before going after you and your parents.  Everyone who knew me knew that I never would have let him go after you.  Besides, you’ve mostly been with Gryffindors and Light-side people, haven’t you?”

Harry nodded.

Uncle Harry laughed.

“I was a Slytherin.  They didn’t like talking about me even when I was alive.  I supported the Dark Lord’s cause…but if he thinks he’s getting anything out of me after he murdered my baby brother, he’s sorely mistaken!”

Harry drew back slightly.

“You supported Voldemort?  But…he’s a murderer!  And a Dark Lord!”

“Do you know what ‘Dark Lord’ means?” older Harry inquired.  “What it really means, not just the Light propaganda of mass-murderer-blood-supremacist-terrorist?”

Harry slowly shook his head.

“Do you know what the Dark Lord was fighting for?”

“Killing Muggles and Muggle-borns,” Harry replied.

Older Harry shook his head.

“That’s the Light propaganda speaking again.  There were some Death Eaters who wanted to do that, but the Dark Lord was pretty good at keeping them in check.  It was very much a civilized war, at least as far as I remember.  Of course, I don’t know what happened after I was cursed.  Why don’t we sit down and talk while we wait for your friend to wake up?” older Harry asked, pulling a wand from his sleeve and conjuring two grey armchairs.

“Shouldn’t we take her to the hospital wing?” Harry asked curiously.

“They can’t do anything for her except wait, and I personally don’t feel like carrying her up fourteen flights of stairs,” older Harry said drily.  “We can’t use magic on her – not even to levitate her – until her soul has settled again.”

Harry hesitantly took a seat in one of the armchairs.  His uncle took the seat across from them. 

“So, Dark Lord,” his uncle said.  “The term refers to the witch or wizard who speaks for all witches and wizards with a Dark magical affinity.  Our Dark Lord came to power after restrictions on Dark witches and wizards started being issued after the Dark wizard Grindelwald went mad and started the Wizarding side of what Muggles know of as World War II.  The Dark Lord rose as a protector of those with a Dark affinity and their rights.  The Light wizards twisted his message into something untenable for most.”

“You’re a Dark wizard?” Harry questioned.

“Grey, but I lean Darker,” his uncle stated.  “The Potter family is traditional Grey, though it sometimes shifts slightly with the generations as other families marry in.  James’ and my mother was a Malfoy, so we’re a bit on the Darker end, even though James sided with the Order of the Phoenix.”

“My grandmother was a _Malfoy_?” Harry demanded.  “But Malfoy’s…he’s…”

“A bit of a brat?” older Harry offered.  The younger Harry nodded.

“I’m not surprised,” older Harry said.  “Lucius and Narcissa were both spoiling that boy dreadfully when he was only a year old.  I shudder to think of what they’ve moved onto by this point in his life.  But yes, Lucius would be your second cousin.  Your father was born very late in our parents’ lives.  I was thirty-two years old when James was born.  I was old enough to have children of my own.  I’d been married more than a decade by that point.  I was also firmly entrenched in the Dark Court.”

“The Court?” Harry asked.

“It’s not just the Dark Lord,” his uncle said.  “In order for the Dark Lord to properly rule as the leader of the Dark witches and wizards, he has to have support, which means the Court.  The majority of the Dark Lord’s sworn followers were his Knights – the Knights of Walpurgis, but there were others of us with higher titles.  We were advisors as well as subordinates.  We were free to speak our minds.  We had specific tasks.  I primarily served as an organizational influence, and I acted as the leader of the Dark section in the Wizengamot.”

“Then why did he come after me?” Harry burst out.  “If you’re really my uncle, and you worked for him, why did he kill my parents and try to kill me, and why does he _keep_ trying to kill me?”

Older Harry frowned.

“What do you mean he keeps trying to attack you?  You’ve encountered him before?”

“My first year,” Harry nodded.  “He was possessing Professor Quirrell – he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.  He had Voldemort on the back of his head the entire year.  He tried to make me fall off my broom at the first Quidditch game, and then tried to attack me in the Forbidden Forest, and then when I stopped him from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone, Quirrell burned up when he grabbed me.”

Older Harry looked satisfied.

“It worked, then.  I gave Lily a blood ritual as a measure of last resort in case I didn’t manage to stop Voldemort from coming after you.  The blood ritual would cost the lives of both your parents, but you would be saved.”

“Why was Voldemort after me anyway?” Harry asked.

His uncle looked surprised.

“Dumbledore hasn’t told you?”

“He said I was too young,” Harry said with a frown.

His uncle sighed.

“A few months before you were born, Dumbledore was present when Sybil Trelawney gave a prophecy that is presumed to be about yourself and Voldemort.  The prophecy said, ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives….’  Voldemort and Dumbledore eventually decided that the prophecy referred to you.  I think they were both idiots.”

“You don’t believe in prophecy?” Harry asked with a tilt of his head.

“I don’t believe in their interpretation of the prophecy,” older Harry clarified.  “Yes, you were born at the end of July after this prophecy was given.  Yes, your parents had refused Voldemort on three separate occasions – in James’ case, probably more than that.  But what Voldemort and Dumbledore didn’t take into account was that I was also born at the end of July – we share a birthday, which is half the reason James gave you my name – and my parents also defied Voldemort three times.  Additionally, I was on my way back from Portugal at the time the prophecy was given, which certainly fits the definition of ‘approaching.’”

“I…I don’t have to defeat Voldemort?” Harry questioned in amazement.

“No, Harry,” his uncle said gently.  “Leave matters of Lords and vanquishing to the adults.  I suspect you’ve never had someone to rely on before?”

“Well, Dumbledore’s been good to me…” Harry started to say, but older Harry scoffed.

“Then why are you down here alone?” he questioned.  “Dumbledore was almost certain of where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in my day.  Why would he allow you to come down here alone, especially if the life of another student was in danger?”  He gestured towards Ginny.  “I assume it was public knowledge that someone had been taken down here?”

“The teachers knew,” Harry admitted.  “There was a note that said, ‘Her skeleton will rot in the Chamber forever.’”

“Well, it was certainly dramatic enough to be Tom,” his uncle muttered. 

“You knew him well?” Harry asked curiously.

“We were roommates during school,” older Harry admitted.

“But he went to school fifty years ago!  You don’t look that old,” Harry argued.

His uncle laughed.

“Wizards age much better than Muggles do.   My parents were in their fifties when James was born.  Besides, I’ve also spent the last twelve years in some sort of stasis sleep, and therefore _not aging_.  So for me, I only graduated thirty-six years ago.”

“That still seems so strange, that you’d done so much before my dad was even born,” Harry said.

“James was young enough to be my son,” his uncle agreed.  “And in some ways, he was.  James was only six years old when our father retired and passed the estates over to me.  Mother and Father spent a good portion of their retirement touring the world, and they left James in England with me.  My husband and I basically raised James until he went to Hogwarts.  He mostly stayed with our parents during school breaks, but he would always come visit me, or vice versa.  Our parents were still alive when James finally got married, but he asked me to officiate the ceremony.  His closest friend, Sirius Black, was the best man.  Sirius was also your godfather, and you were supposed to go to him if anything happened to your parents.”

“Not you?” Harry questioned.

“I was third on the list,” older Harry replied.  “First your godfather, Sirius; then your godmother and her husband, Alice and Frank Longbottom; then me.  I was supposed to be allowed to see you, but due to my Dark associations, you wouldn’t have gone directly to my custody.  And you were never, ever supposed to go to Petunia and her whale of a husband.”

“You’ve met Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked in surprise.

“No, but James did.  He and Lily attempted to have dinner with Petunia and her then-fiancé over Christmas break of their seventh year.  Petunia ended up storming out of the restaurant, and Lily spent the rest of the afternoon crying.  James spent several hours ranting to me about his interactions with the man, and very nearly asked me to convince some of my associates to make him disappear.”

“Why didn’t he?” Harry questioned.  It certainly would have made his life easier if Vernon Dursley had been ‘disappeared’ before he had the chance to produce Dudley.

“It would have made Petunia unhappy, which would have made Lily unhappy,” older Harry replied.  “And my baby brother may have been arrogant and a jerk at times, but he truly did love Lily.  Besides,” he added in an afterthought, “Lily was _terrifying_ when she was angry.”

Any further conversation was interrupted by a faint moan from the end of the Chamber.  Ginny was stirring.  Harry jumped out of his chair and hurried over to her.  His uncle stood at a more leisurely pace and Vanished the armchairs before walking towards her as well.  Harry knelt down beside her and picked up the diary next to her head.  Before he could say anything, she sat up.  Her bemused eyes traveled over Harry, in his torn robes, then to the diary in his hand.  She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

“Harry – oh, Harry – I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c- _couldn’t_ say it in front of Percy – it was _me_ , Harry – but I – I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to – R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over – and – how did you find me?  W-where’s Riddle?  The last thing I remember is him coming out of the diary…”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, not certain that it was true, but somewhat willing to trust the strange man – whom he hesitantly believed was his uncle.  “Riddle’s gone,” he continued.  “The basilisk too.  C’mon, Ginny, let’s get out of here…”

“I’m going to be expelled!” Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet.  “I’ve looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came, and n-now I’ll have to leave and – _w-what’ll Mum and Dad say?_ ”

“None of this was your fault, Miss,” older Harry said gently, causing Ginny to jump as she noticed him.

“W-who are you?” she asked through her tears.

“Harry Potter the elder,” older Harry said.  “Your Housemate there is my nephew.  Now, I believe my nephew called you Ginny?  May I ask your last name?”

“W-Weasley,” Ginny sniffled.

Older Harry smiled gently at her.

“Well, Miss Weasley, I can assure you that none of this was your fault and that you shall not be held responsible in the slightest.  All of this was due to a dangerous magical artifact created by two schoolboys and promptly locked away due to the threat that it posed.  I have no idea why it is no longer in the warded bookshelf where I last saw it, but I intend to find out.”

“The d-diary was yours?” Ginny asked fearfully.

“No, it was Tom’s.  We’d meant the diary to simply be a mechanism to provide a bearer of our choice the temporary power of Parseltongue so that someone could let the basilisk out every so often.  She’s highly intelligent after all, and she gets very bored spending centuries trapped in the same room.  There are specific house-elves that provide food for her, but she likes to go out into the Forest to hunt every so often.  The diary was originally meant as a mechanism for that, but we soon discovered that we had made the diary far too powerful.  It had all our intelligence with none of our morals.  Thankfully, we did think to set me up as a failsafe.  The diary is forced to obey my commands,” Harry explained smoothly.

“So, who saved m-me?  You or Harry?” Ginny asked confusedly.

“Well, we’re both Harry Potter,” older Harry laughed slightly.  “I was the one to stop the diary from possessing you, but my nephew was the one to break the enchantment binding me in the first place so that I could help you.”

“Enchantment?” Ginny asked curiously.

“I’ll explain on the way,” older Harry said kindly.  “Now, why don’t we get out of here?”

Ginny was supported between the two Harrys as they walked back to the Chamber entrance, stepping over puddles, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. 

Older Harry turned back to the doors and ordered, _“Close.”_   The stone doors shut behind them with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry’s ears.

“Ron!” Harry yelled, speeding up the best he could with Ginny leaning on him.  “Ginny’s okay!  I’ve got her!”

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the gap he had managed to make in the rockfall.

“Ginny!” Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to grab her hand.  “You’re alive!  I don’t believe it!  What happened?  How – what – who are you?” he asked, finally noticing older Harry.

“He’s my uncle,” Harry said wearily.  “He was in an enchanted sleep in the Chamber.”

“You have an uncle?” Ron demanded.

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” Harry said with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying even harder than ever.

“But…”

“Later,” Harry said shortly.  He didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who’d been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny anyway.

“Friend of yours?” older Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“My best friend,” Harry said.  “Ron Weasley.  Ginny’s older brother.”

“Well, Mr. Weasley, if you would release your sister’s hand and back up a bit, I will make this passage a bit safer for us to pass through,” older Harry said.

Both Ginny and Ron seemed reluctant to let go, but Harry managed to pull Ginny away and back a few steps.  His uncle waved his wand and the hole Ron had made grew as the rockfall moved to the edges of the tunnel, sealing itself back into place.

Ron quickly moved to embrace his sister, before grabbing Harry into a quick hug as well.

“Where’s Lockhart?” Harry asked, not seeing the teacher in the now empty tunnel.

“Back there,” Ron said, still holding his sister but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe.  “He’s in a bad way.  Come and see.”

“Lockhart?” older Harry asked.

“Our Defense teacher,” Harry said shortly.  “He tried to Obliviate us and leave us for dead down here and then take credit for killing the basilisk without ever going near it.  But he used Ron’s wand, which was messed up, and it caused the rockfall and hit him.  He was a useless teacher anyway.”

Older Harry conjured a glowing ball of light that illuminated the dark tunnel as they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe.  Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

“His memory’s gone,” said Ron.  “The Memory Charm backfired.  Hit him instead of us.  Hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are.  I told him to come and wait here.  He’s a danger to himself.”

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.

“Hello,” he said.  “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it?  Do you live here?”

“No,” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

“I did, but I’m moving,” older Harry said drily.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

“Have you thought how we’re going to get back up this?” he said to Ron.

Ron shook his head, but older Harry snorted.

“It’s easy enough, don’t worry.  Well, easy so long as you don’t mind fourteen flights of stairs.”  He leaned over to the pipe and hissed, _“Stairs.”_   The dark pipe melted into a narrow spiral staircase that rose high above their heads.  Older Harry looked over at them.

“Are you feeling up to this, Miss Weasley?” he asked kindly.  “I can conjure a stretcher for you and levitate you up.”

“No, I-I think I’m okay,” the girl said determinedly. 

“Let me know if it’s too much for you,” older Harry said firmly.

They managed to climb all two hundred stairs in about ten minutes.  Exhaustion from the other activities caused the three children to hit the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.  Lockhart straightened his hat as older Harry ordered, _“Close,”_ and the sink that hid the pipe slid back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them.

“You’re alive,” she said blankly to Harry.

“There’s no need to sound so disappointed,” he said grimly, wiping flecks dust and slime off his glasses. 

“Oh, well…I’d just been thinking…if you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet,” said Myrtle, blushing silver. 

“Myrtle?” Older Harry questioned sharply.  “Myrtle Warren?”

The ghost’s eyes went straight to the man.

“Why, if it isn’t the other Harry Potter!” she said delightedly.  “What were you doing down there?”

“I’ve been imprisoned in an enchanted sleep,” older Harry said.  Harry supposed that this confirmed he was who he said he was.  “My nephew managed to wake me up.”

Myrtle looked between the two.

“I can see the resemblance,” she said thoughtfully.  “You’re both still handsome.  You’ve gotten even more handsome as you aged, Harry.”

“I’m married, Myrtle,” older Harry said drily.  “But thank you anyway.”

“Urgh!” Ron said as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside.  “Harry!  I think Myrtle’s grown fond of you!  You’ve got competition, Ginny!”

But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny’s face.

“Where now?” said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. 

“Is McGonagall still head of Gryffindor?” older Harry asked idly.

“Yes,” all three Gryffindors chorused.

“Well, she’s probably got your parents with her by now, so her office would be best,” older Harry said simply.  “Besides, I don’t want to deal with Dumbledore yet.”

“Dumbledore got kicked out by the Board of Governors, because of the attacks,” Harry stated.

“Lucius Malfoy probably bribed them all, the slimy git,” Ron said nastily.

“Good for him,” older Harry said as he led the way to Professor McGonagall’s office.  “But I don’t doubt that Dumbledore will be back soon enough.  He’s like a particularly determined cockroach.”

“Don’t insult Dumbledore!” Ron puffed up.

Older Harry paused and raised an eyebrow at Ron.

“I’m fifty-four – no, sixty-five years old.  I can insult whomever I want.”

Moments later, they found themselves outside Professor McGonagall’s office.  Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

For a moment, there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lockhart, and older Harry stood in the doorway, covered in dust and slime and (in Harry’s case) blood.  Then there was a scream.

“Ginny!”

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire.  She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Harry, however, was looking past them.  Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest.  Harry found himself and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasley’s tight embrace.

“You saved her!  You saved her!  How did you do it?”

“I think we’d all like to know that,” said Professor McGonagall weakly.

“I didn’t,” Harry said.  “He did.”  He gestured to his uncle, who was still standing half-behind Lockhart.

Older Harry stepped into the light, a cool expression on his face. 

“Albus,” he greeted.  “Minerva.”  He nodded to the respective parties. 

Professor McGonagall gasped again, and even Professor Dumbledore looked shocked.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Professor McGonagall said.

“Apparently, Voldemort grew tired with my interference with his plans to kill my nephew, so he put me in an enchanted sleep and left me in the Chamber of Secrets so that no one could accidentally wake me up,” older Harry said.  “But I assure you, I am most definitely alive, and most definitely angry with you, Albus!  _Petunia?_   Both Lily and James’ wills specifically said that Harry was _never_ to go anywhere _near_ Petunia!”

“It was the best option,” Dumbledore tried to say. 

“How was it the best option?  What happened to everyone else on the list?”

“Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban.  Frank and Alice were tortured into insanity by the Lestranges.  _You_ were dead, as far as anyone knew,” Dumbledore replied.

Older Harry blinked.

“What the hell did Sirius do to end himself up in Azkaban?”

“He betrayed the Potters to Voldemort.  He was the Secret Keeper.  Then he blew up twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew when Peter tried to confront him,” Dumbledore said coolly.

Older Harry sighed.

“It seems that I have a date or four with the Wizengamot…and the Azkaban warden.  I can believe that he blew up Peter Pettigrew – and twelve Muggles with him – but he didn’t betray James and Lily.  He wasn’t the Secret Keeper.  Peter was.”

Dumbledore’s face was stormy.

“How do you know this?”

“James was my brother,” older Harry said mildly.

“You’re James Potter’s brother?” Arthur Weasley asked interestedly.  “I didn’t know he had one.”

“I’m almost twice the age James would have been now,” older Harry said, a hint of sadness in his voice.  “We ran in completely different social circles.  Now, Harry, before I go back to arguing with Albus, why don’t you tell the story of how you managed everything?  I barely did anything, after all.”

“I think we’d all like to know,” Professor McGonagall said weakly.

Older Harry conjured more grey armchairs, and they all sat down.  Then, Harry started telling them everything.  For nearly a quarter of an hour, he spoke into the rapt silence: he told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that eh was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom….

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, “so you found out where the entrance was – breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add – but how on earth did you get out of there alive, Potter?”

So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about how the basilisk had chased him around the Chamber, how he’d run through the corner where his uncle was and disrupted the spell.  But then he faltered.  HE had so far avoided mentioning the diary – or Ginny.  She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks.  What if they expelled her?  Harry thought in panic.  How could they prove that she’d been forced to do it all?

Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

“What interests me most,” Dumbledore said gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

Relief – warm, sweeping, glorious relief – swept over Harry.

“W-what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice.  “ _You-Know-Who?_   En-enchant _Ginny_?  But Ginny’s not…Ginny hasn’t been…has she?”

“It happened because someone took a magical artifact out of its protective wards and it somehow made its way into the hands of a first-year,” older Harry said irritably.  “The damned thing was locked down for a reason.  We _knew_ it was dangerous.”

“It was a diary,” Harry said quickly.  “Riddle wrote in it when he was sixteen.”

“And where is this diary now?” Dumbledore asked.

“I have it,” older Harry said.  “As is my right.  It’s safest with me – I can override its magic.  I’m going to shove the damned thing into an even deeper hole than the last one.”

“You can override its magic?” Dumbledore asked, surprised.

Older Harry rolled his eyes.

“We were trying to set up something that could give the temporary power of Parseltongue to the person of our choosing to let the basilisk out to go hunting in the Forbidden Forest.  We were mostly concerned about that acromantula of Hagrid’s that is apparently still around instead of being put down like it should have been.  But we knew what we were doing was untested, so we made sure to set up a way to override the magic: me.”

“Brilliant,” Dumbledore said softly.  “Of course, you two were probably the most brilliant students Hogwarts has ever seen.”  He turned to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

“Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle.  I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts.  He disappeared after leaving the school…travelled far and wide…sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable.  Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

“You’re showing your prejudice again, Albus,” older Harry said idly, leaning back in his chair.  “He was the chosen Dark Lord, _of course_ he learned all the Dark Arts.  It was his Magic-given duty, just as you have yours to the Light.  If your referring to the Dark Court as ‘the worst of our kind’, do remember who you’re sitting in a room with.  And _of course_ Lord Voldemort wasn’t recognizable as Tom Riddle, most people do like taking a stroll down Diagon Alley without causing mass panic!”

“But, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley, obviously more concerned with her daughter than the past of the Dark Lord.  “What’s our Ginny got to do with – with – him?”

“His d-diary!” Ginny sobbed.  “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year…”

“Ginny!” said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted.  “Haven’t I taught you anything?  What have I always told you?  Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.  Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother?  A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic…”

“I d-didn’t know,” sobbed Ginny.  “I found it inside one of the books Mum got me.  I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it…”

“Left it there, probably,” older Harry said coldly.  “Forgotten about it?  Unlikely.  The wards around the diary were intense.  It had to be purposefully removed.  It is possible that Voldemort removed it in the two days between his enchantment of me and passed it off to someone who was unaware of its properties, but I find that unlikely.”

“The diary should be destroyed,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly, matching older Harry’s glare.  “After what it did to my Ginny!”

“You can’t destroy it,” older Harry said simply.

Mr. Weasley puffed up.

“I’m the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and that diary certainly seems to qualify!”

“It’s counted as an heirloom of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House,” older Harry said in a slightly bored tone.  “Unless new laws have been passed in the past twelve years – and I doubt they have, since it requires a majority vote of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses to enact any laws against them, and four out of the five have been out of commission for the past twelve years.”

Mr. Weasley grimaced as he deflated.

“I assure you, the diary will be secured,” older Harry said in a quieter voice.  “No one will be harmed by the diary again.  “And as for your daughter…”

“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice.  “This has been a terrible ordeal for her.  There will be no punishment.  Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.”  He strode over to the door and opened it.  “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate.  I always find that cheers me up,” he added, twinkling kindly down at her.  “You will find Madam Pomfrey is still awake.  She’s just giving out Mandrake juice – I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“So Hermione’s okay!” Ron said brightly.

“There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny,” Dumbledore said.

“Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

“You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, “I think all this merits a good feast.  Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?”

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall crisply.  “I’ll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?”

“Certainly,” said Dumbledore.

She left, and Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore.  What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them?  Surely – surely – they weren’t about to be punished?

“I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke and more school rules,” said Dumbledore. 

Ron opened his mouth in horror.

“Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words,” Dumbledore went on, smiling.  “You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and – let me see – yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.”

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart’s valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.

“But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added.  “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

Harry gave a start.  He had forgotten about Lockhart.  He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile.  When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets.  Professor Lockhart…”

“Am I a professor?” said Lockhart in mild surprise.  “Goodness.  I expect I was hopeless, was I?”

“HE tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.

“Dear me,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering.  “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”

“Sword?” said Lockhart dimly.  “Haven’t got a sword.”

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore said to Ron.  “I’d like a few more words with Harry.  Lord Potter, perhaps you should go to the infirmary as well, so that Poppy can ensure that there are no lasting effects?”

“Certainly,” older Harry said cheerfully.  “After your chat with Harry, he can escort me there himself.  I’m certain I’ve forgotten the way.  It’s been fifty years, after all.”

Lockhart ambled out.  Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and the two Harrys as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire so that he was across from Harry.

“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you,” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again.  “You did well.  And so you have met Tom Riddle.  I imagine he was most interested in you….”

Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Professor Dumbledore…Riddle said I’m like him.  Strange likenesses, he said…”

“Did he, now?” said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick, silver eyebrows.  “And what do you think, Harry?”

“I don’t think I’m like him!” said Harry, more loudly than he intended.  “I mean, I’m – I’m in Gryffindor, I’m…”

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

“Professor,” he started again after a moment.  “The Sorting Hat told me I’d – I’d have done well in Slytherin.  Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while…because I can speak Parseltongue….”

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “because Lord Voldemort – who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin – can speak Parseltongue.  Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar.  Not something he intended to do, I’m sure….”

“Voldemort put a bit of himself in _me_?” Harry said, thunderstruck.

“It certainly seems so.”

“So I should be in Slytherin,” Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore’s ace.  “The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin’s power in me, and it…”

“Put you in Gryffindor,” Dumbledore said calmly.  “Listen to me, Harry.  You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students.  His own very rare gift, Parseltongue – resourcefulness – determination – and a certain disregard for the rules,” he added, his mustache quivering again.  “Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor.  You know why that was.  Think.”

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “because I asked not to go in Slytherin…”

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, beaming once more.  “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle.  It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned, when a voice spoke up from behind him.

“Hogwash,” his uncle said.  Harry jumped.  He’d forgotten the older man was there.  “You are, as ever, wrong again, Dumbledore.  Harry, nephew, you do remember that I am also a Parselmouth.  Voldemort is not the only living descendant of Slytherin, though he is the rightful Heir.  The Potter family has intermarried with Slytherin’s line on four separate occasions – and before that, we were descended from Salazar’s sister, Sence.  Parseltongue isn’t as consistent on our side of the family as it is in the main line, but it does pop up now and again.  Before me, it hasn’t been seen since my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Theobald Potter.  His father and uncle, Simeon and Abraham Potter, and his grandparents, Conrad Potter and Rionach Steward, were also Parselmouths.  Rionach was a descendant of the main line.  Conrad’s father was also a Parselmouth, as were _his_ grandparents – Ralston Potter and Líadan Gaunt.  Líadan was daughter of the main line.  Before that, Parseltongue hadn’t been seen in the family since Ralston’s great-great-great-great-great- grandfather, Alaric Potter, the great-grandson of Iolanthe Peverell, our family’s original connection to Salazar Slytherins’ lineage.” 

“Really?” Harry asked interestedly.  “How was Iolanthe Peverell related?”

“Her grandfather was Ignotus Peverell, the original owner of the family Invisibility Cloak – which had better have ended up with Harry,” older Harry said with a glare toward Dumbledore.

“He gave it to me my first year,” Harry assured. 

His uncle nodded sharply.  “Good.  Anyway, Ignotus was the third son of Zenobius Peverell – the eldest son, Antioch, had no children, while the second son, Cadmus, is the progenitor of the main line.  Zenobius was the great-great-great-great-grandson of Ignatius Peverell, the son of Neoptolemus Peverell and Sunniva Slytherin, Salazar Slytherin’s only child.  Neoptolemus was the only son of Rowena Ravenclaw and her husband, Artemios Peverell, who – according to the Grey Lady – mysteriously disappeared shortly after Gryffindor and Slytherin discovered he abused Rowena.  Neoptolemus, his mother, and his sister all went by the name ‘Ravenclaw’ – Rowena’s maiden name – but Neoptolemus took his father’s name again after his mother and sister died.”

“We’re descended from two of the four founders?” Harry asked in shock.

His uncle smirked. 

“I mentioned that we were descended from Salazar’s sister as well?  Iolanthe Peverell married Hardwin Potter, the son of Linfred ‘the Potterer’ of Stinchcombe.  Linfred was the great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson of Sence Slytherin and _Godric Gryffindor_.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“So next time you’re accused of being the Heir of Slytherin, you can tell everyone that you’re the Heir of Gryffindor.  And as for the Gryffindor/Slytherin choice the Hat gives…well, I got it too, as did your father, and my father, my uncle, and my cousin.  We all choose between the two.  Well, except Aldebrand.  He went to Ravenclaw instead,” older Harry sighed.

For a moment, no one spoke.  Then Dumbledore pulled open once of the drawers in Professor McGonagall’s desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. 

“What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep.  I suggest you go down to the feast – after you escort your uncle to the Hospital Wing – while I write to Azkaban – we need our gamekeeper back.  And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added thoughtfully.  “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher…. Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”

“I’d like to apply,” older Harry offered.

Both other eyes in the room shot to him.  The man stretched as he stood up. 

“I don’t have much else to do,” he stated.  “Just the Wizengamot, and if you can manage the Wizengamot, the ICW, and being Headmaster, I’m sure I can manage being a professor and running the Fáh Dimnesse.  After all, you are still running the Fáh Beorhtes as well, are you not?”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

“You expect to be so easily re-accepted as the leader of the Fáh Dimnesse?”

“I do,” older Harry stated.  “And I have a Mastery in Defense.  I’m certainly more qualified than Lockhart.  And if the previous teacher was possessed by Voldemort, I doubt that the students received a good education from him either.  I shudder to think about the students taking the OWLs and NEWTs this year.  When was the last time someone qualified for the Auror program?”

“Nymphadora Tonks qualified the summer before last,” Dumbledore said mildly. 

“And no one qualified last year, and no one will qualify this year,” older Harry replied.  “How many people didn’t even make it to NEWT-level DADA after the bad teaching of last year?  How many will that happen again to this year?  You need a qualified instructor, Albus, and you can’t deny that I’m qualified.”

Dumbledore sighed.

“I cannot.  Very well.  I agree.  I’ll have the contract ready for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” older Harry said with a nod.  “Term doesn’t end for what, three weeks?  If the students aren’t too busy with exams, I’d like to come back and test their capabilities now, perhaps even start them on some of the things they missed, before jumping into things come September.  Obviously, the Defense examinations should be cancelled.”

“I believe I’ll cancel all exams, with the exceptions of OWLs and NEWTs,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.  “You should have plenty of time to get to work on your students.”

“After I leave this morning – it is Sunday by this point, isn’t it?  I won’t be back until Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on how long it takes to get myself declared alive and the rest of my affairs back in order.”

“I will see you at the feast then?” Dumbledore asked.

“After Poppy releases me from her clutches,” older Harry said wryly.  He stood from his chair and reached over to shake Dumbledore’s hand before turning to Harry.  “Are you still willing to take me to the Hospital Wing, Harry?”

“Of course…uncle?”

The smile he received in response was the only confirmation of the title he needed.

Harry got up and crossed to the door as his uncle vanished the armchairs.  Harry had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face.  And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room, and he didn’t even look over at older Harry.  Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy’s shoes.  Apparently, Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled.  Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

“So!” he said.  “You’ve come back.  The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today.  It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth.  They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once.  They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all.  Very strange tales they told me, too…Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

“So – have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered.  “Have you caught the culprit?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore with a smile.

“Well?”  Mr. Malfoy said sharply.  “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” Dumbledore said.  “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else.  By means of a magical artifact in the shape of a diary.” 

He was watching Mr. Malfoy closely.  Harry, however, was watching Dobby.  The elf was doing something very odd.  His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing to Dumbledore, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” Dumbledore said in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye.  “Because if Harry” – Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look, though he still didn’t notice older Harry standing in the shadows – “and his friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why – Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame.  No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will….”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then…. The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families.  Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns…. Very fortunate the diary was discovered.  Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise….”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

And Harry suddenly understood.  He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” Harry asked.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

“How should I know ow the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he demanded.

“Because you gave it to her,” Harry said.  “In Flourish and Blotts.  You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?”

He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

“Prove it,” he hissed.

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” Dumbledore said, smiling at Harry.  “On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, to not go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things.  If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you….”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand.  Instead, he turned to his house-elf.

“We’re going, Dobby!”

“Not so fast, Lucius,” older Harry said, stepping out from the shadows where he had secluded himself.

Mr. Malfoy whirled around, and his already pale face when even paler. 

“My – my lord,” he said, stunned.  His body twitched forward as if he wanted to kneel.  “We – we all thought you were dead.”

“You mean you thought that Voldemort killed me,” older Harry said idly.  “I assure you.  I’m not dead.  And the diary is back to its proper owner,” he said, pulling the book out of his pocket slightly.  “We will be discussing this later, I expect you at my manor at precisely ten Monday morning.  You will notify the relevant people for a _further_ meeting at eight o’clock Monday night.  At ten o’clock _Tuesday_ morning, I want a meeting of the Fáh Dimnesse.  Who is the current leader?”

“I-I am,” Lucius Malfoy said. 

Older Harry’s face was cool.

“Then I expect you will relinquish the position back to me as soon as possible.”

Mr. Malfoy looked as if he was resisting bowing.

“Yes, sir,” he said uncomfortably.

“Very well, Lucius,” older Harry said dismissively.  “You may go.”

Mr. Malfoy bowed his head to Harry’s uncle before storming to the door and wrenching it open. 

“We’re going, Dobby!” he ordered.

“Oh, and Lucius?” older Harry asked idly, twirling his wand between his fingers. 

Mr. Malfoy looked back and froze at the sight.

“If I hear you’ve taken your anger out on your house-elf, I will be very displeased,” older Harry said.

“As you wish,” Lucius Malfoy replied, this time bowing slightly at the waist.

Once he was gone, older Harry clapped his hands together.  “Well, that’s done with.  Now, as it turns out, twelve years in an enchanted sleep certainly whets the appetite.  To the feast, nephew?”

Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this.  Everybody was in their pajamas – with the exception of himself, the Weasleys, and his uncle – and the celebration lasted all night. 

Harry didn’t know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming, “You solved it!  You solved it!” or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron’s four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that the exams had been cancelled as a school treat (“Oh, no!” said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back.  Quite a few teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news. 

“Replacing him,” Dumbledore said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the cheers, “will be Lord Henry Potter, who is recently returning to society after a long absence.”

His uncle stood from his spot beside Harry to speak.

“He’s trying to be polite in saying that the Dark Lord Voldemort put me in an enchanted sleep, that my nephew – yes, Harry Potter is my nephew and namesake – managed to break during this incident.  As I highly doubt you learned anything from Mr. Lockhart, I will be assessing your abilities at some point during the rest of term.  Priority, of course, goes to the NEWT and OWL students, who do still need to take their exams.  I would also like to speak with all of the sixth and seventh years – perhaps on Saturday?  Thank you for listening, and I look forward to working with you.”

The murmurs increased as older Harry sat back down.  Harry noticed that Snape’s eyes were riveted on them, though he’d paid them no intention up to that point.

He nudged his uncle.

“Snape’s staring at you.”

“Professor Snape, nephew,” his uncle replied in between bites of chocolate cake.  “He is one of your teachers and deserves your respect.”

“He hates me,” Harry emphasized.

His uncle let out a small laugh. 

“He hated James too.  Severus blamed James for breaking his friendship with Lily, and he never quite forgave him that.  Severus loved Lily.  He never did forgive James, though they were able to speak without attempting to murder each other by your first birthday.”

Harry’s head shot around so fast he was surprised it didn’t crack.

“Snape was friends with my mum?” he demanded.

“Oh yes,” his uncle said.  “Since they were children, I believe.  I’ll speak with Severus, see if he can tone down his animosity a bit.  He probably blames you, a bit, for your mother’s death, and mine as well.”

“You were friends with Professor Snape, sir?” Hermione queried.

“He was my apprentice during his Potions Mastery,” older Harry stated.  “We got to know each other quite well.”

“You have a Potions Mastery and a Defense Mastery?” Hermione asked, eyes shining bright.

“And Masteries in Warding, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Dueling, and the Dark Arts.  I’m also a fully-licensed Healer – or I was,” he said sourly.  “I suppose that’s probably expired.  I’ll have to contact St. Mungo’s, see if they make exceptions for letting your license expire in cases like this.”

“It’s possible to get that many Masteries?” Hermione asked brightly.

“It is, though it takes quite a while,” older Harry said with a smile.

“You don’t look that old,” she said dubiously. 

“I was fifty-four years old when I was enchanted,” older Harry said.

Hermione then dragged older Harry into a conversation about the electives that could be taken at Hogwarts, revealing that she’d signed up for all of them.  When Harry stated that he’d selected Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, as had Ron, his uncle recommended that all of them drop Divination, as the professor was a true Prophet, which made her absolutely useless at all other forms of Divination, and most of the books taught on the subject in this country were worthless.  When Hermione asked where to get books that were informative, older Harry told her she’d need to learn old Norse and ancient Greek first.

The feast ended around dawn, with everyone trundling back to their beds for a few hours’ sleep before lunch.

“I’ll see you in a few days, nephew,” older Harry said, hovering hesitantly a few steps away from him.  “May I…may I hug you?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded.  He was pulled into a hug that represented everything he’d been missing over the past few years.


End file.
